need to know that everything's
okay."
"I will."
"Love you, honey."
"Love you too, Mom."
The moment he hung up with his mother, he dialed his best friend's cell phone number.
"This better be the asshole that hasn't bothered to call me in days even though I helped him track
down his long lost family," Charlie said after half a ring. "And don't you dare tell me service sucks at
the lake."
"It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since we last talked," Michael argued.
"You could've called me on your way to the airport."
"I'm calling you now, from the plane, and it's gonna cost me a fortune."
"Everything's changed since we spoke yesterday. Even your identity's different." "Not yet, it isn't," Michael said with a smile. "And I'm still your best friend."
He let out a sigh and stretched his legs as much as he could.
Friendly banter with his partner in crime was exactly what Michael needed after the turmoil from
the past few hours. It was familiar territory. Something they'd been doing since they first met. It felt
like heaven… and he was terrified of losing it now that they'd been forced to go their separate ways.
"You need to tell me the important stuff immediately," Charlie enunciated. "Confirming your
grandpa is a Hollywood legend, and finding out Manny Guzman literally swung his way qualifies as
such, so you don't wait to get on a plane before you call me!"
"Fine, I won't do it again."
"I can't believe your grandma admitted Richard Bancroft is your grandpa."
"Yeah, I thought she'd deny it but— wait. How do you know this?"
"Glad you ask," Charlie said in a sarcastic tone. "I only know this 'cause your mom told me. Not
you, but your mom . I resent that, dude."
"When did you talk to her?"
"A while ago when I called to make sure you'd survived the wrath of your grandmother."
"You're so dramatic," Michael chuckled.
"You wouldn't change me for anything."
"You know it." He swallowed hard and brushed his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry my mom
beat me to the punch."
"I'm just giving you shit, but seriously, how are you handling things?"
Michael sighed and closed his eyes. "The anxiety's killing me," he confessed. "Not knowing what
to expect…" He bit the inside of his cheek and cleared his throat. "I don't want to get my hopes up.
It's all so stupid. I mean, I never met my grandpa, but to uncover the truth only to find out he's
dead, and I'll never be able to…" "To what?" Charlie prompted.
"To meet him, and make things right for Dad, I guess…" He shook his head. "That'd be messed
up."
"Yeah…"
"I so wish you could be here with me," Michael whispered.
"Which is why I talked your mom into letting me tag along," Charlie announced triumphantly.
"She knows this is a time when you'll need your best friend by your side, so hang on tight, okay? I'll
be there tomorrow to wipe out your tears and snot, and celebrate with you. Besides, we must discuss
custody arrangements of our couch."
A weird noise made its way up Michael's throat. It was half-laugh, half-sob.
The couch in reference was something they had bought together and kept in their dorm room for
the past three years. They both loved it, and had fond memories of it. Neither had wanted to give it
up, and ultimately decided they'd take turns keeping it. They had yet to decide who got first watch.
"You're the best," he told his friend.
"And you're lucky to have me."
Michael laughed. "Fuck off."
"See ya tomorrow, Mike."
"See ya."
Michael ended the call and opened the journal.
February 4, 1967
We fought again today. It seems like Mary Elizabeth and I can't be in the same room together without having an
argument over one thing or another. A party I don't want to go to, a party I refuse to show up to even when we are the
hosts, my newly found appreciation for gin, my lack of
okay."
"I will."
"Love you, honey."
"Love you too, Mom."
The moment he hung up with his mother, he dialed his best friend's cell phone number.
"This better be the asshole that hasn't bothered to call me in days even though I helped him track
down his long lost family," Charlie said after half a ring. "And don't you dare tell me service sucks at
the lake."
"It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since we last talked," Michael argued.
"You could've called me on your way to the airport."
"I'm calling you now, from the plane, and it's gonna cost me a fortune."
"Everything's changed since we spoke yesterday. Even your identity's different." "Not yet, it isn't," Michael said with a smile. "And I'm still your best friend."
He let out a sigh and stretched his legs as much as he could.
Friendly banter with his partner in crime was exactly what Michael needed after the turmoil from
the past few hours. It was familiar territory. Something they'd been doing since they first met. It felt
like heaven… and he was terrified of losing it now that they'd been forced to go their separate ways.
"You need to tell me the important stuff immediately," Charlie enunciated. "Confirming your
grandpa is a Hollywood legend, and finding out Manny Guzman literally swung his way qualifies as
such, so you don't wait to get on a plane before you call me!"
"Fine, I won't do it again."
"I can't believe your grandma admitted Richard Bancroft is your grandpa."
"Yeah, I thought she'd deny it but— wait. How do you know this?"
"Glad you ask," Charlie said in a sarcastic tone. "I only know this 'cause your mom told me. Not
you, but your mom . I resent that, dude."
"When did you talk to her?"
"A while ago when I called to make sure you'd survived the wrath of your grandmother."
"You're so dramatic," Michael chuckled.
"You wouldn't change me for anything."
"You know it." He swallowed hard and brushed his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry my mom
beat me to the punch."
"I'm just giving you shit, but seriously, how are you handling things?"
Michael sighed and closed his eyes. "The anxiety's killing me," he confessed. "Not knowing what
to expect…" He bit the inside of his cheek and cleared his throat. "I don't want to get my hopes up.
It's all so stupid. I mean, I never met my grandpa, but to uncover the truth only to find out he's
dead, and I'll never be able to…" "To what?" Charlie prompted.
"To meet him, and make things right for Dad, I guess…" He shook his head. "That'd be messed
up."
"Yeah…"
"I so wish you could be here with me," Michael whispered.
"Which is why I talked your mom into letting me tag along," Charlie announced triumphantly.
"She knows this is a time when you'll need your best friend by your side, so hang on tight, okay? I'll
be there tomorrow to wipe out your tears and snot, and celebrate with you. Besides, we must discuss
custody arrangements of our couch."
A weird noise made its way up Michael's throat. It was half-laugh, half-sob.
The couch in reference was something they had bought together and kept in their dorm room for
the past three years. They both loved it, and had fond memories of it. Neither had wanted to give it
up, and ultimately decided they'd take turns keeping it. They had yet to decide who got first watch.
"You're the best," he told his friend.
"And you're lucky to have me."
Michael laughed. "Fuck off."
"See ya tomorrow, Mike."
"See ya."
Michael ended the call and opened the journal.
February 4, 1967
We fought again today. It seems like Mary Elizabeth and I can't be in the same room together without having an
argument over one thing or another. A party I don't want to go to, a party I refuse to show up to even when we are the
hosts, my newly found appreciation for gin, my lack of
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